“You’re not tenants. You’re squatting,” I said.
“Also known as ‘adverse possession,’” she said. “You’ll find our rights in the matter aren’t so easily abridged. Beyond that, we don’t appreciate the name-calling. During the time we’ve lived here, we’ve improved the property, which was sadly neglected. There were so many cockroaches in the kitchen, we could have called the health department to complain. Rats, too, which are known carriers of the hantavirus. We paid for pest control and eradicated the vermin. You’ve seen us paint and make repairs. Whether you like it or not isn’t relevant. You can’t throw us out in the street. We’re elderly and we won’t be harassed and persecuted.”
“Who’s harassing you?!”
“I believe raising your voice in a threatening manner with the intent to intimidate old people would be considered a form of harassment.”
“How about the fact that you’re trespassing?” I said. “We should just call the police and let them deal with you.”
Edna made her little dimples appear. “This is a civil matter. I can assure you the police won’t want to step into the situation, especially when we can show a rental agreement in support of our occupancy.”
I said, “I know a couple of detectives with the STPD, and believe me, they won’t hesitate to ‘step in’ and run a computer check. You better hope you don’t have so much as an unpaid parking ticket.”
Henry gestured impatiently. “This is getting us nowhere. We’ll let the Adelsons know we’ve had this conversation. May I keep this?”
“That’s my only copy and I’ll thank you to return it,” she said, and held out her hand.
Henry gave her the rental agreement. Edna walked us to the door and stood there stubbornly, watching our departure with a satisfied expression. We descended the porch stairs and walked the twenty-five yards to Henry’s house.
I said, “Pardon my language, Henry, but what the fuck was that?”
? ? ?
In the morning, I was still stewing about the tactics Joseph and Edna had employed with regard to the property next door. How could they simply move into a house and live there without paying rent? It seemed outrageous to me, but she’d defended their position with such confidence, it had to be a plan they’d executed before. The Adelsons would be forced to hire an attorney to assert their rights to a house they already owned.
In scanning the rental application the night before, I’d spotted the past address the Shallenbargers had listed, which I hoped was legitimate. Any good liar will tell you that stitching in the occasional point of fact gives a fabricated story a certain ring of truth. I pulled out my Thomas Guide to Santa Teresa and Perdido Counties and tracked down Lily Avenue, which was just off Seaward. I stopped long enough to fill my tank with gas and then hit the southbound on-ramp to the 101.
Once on Lily, I parked and did a quick walk-about, eyeballing the houses on either side of 1122. This was a neighborhood of middle-class houses, small but well-maintained. I approached the house at 1120 and rang the bell. There were two newspapers on the porch mat, and when I rang a second time without success, I gave it up and returned to the street.
I tried the house on the other side of 1122. My knock unleashed a noisy chorus of barks. The woman who opened the door was still shushing the assortment of rescue mutts that accompanied her. In the main, they ignored her, so excited about the company they could barely contain themselves. I counted six of them, no two alike. I knew one was a dachshund, and the small, short-haired, brown-and-white hyper leaping dog had to be a Jack Russell terrier. One of the others was a shepherd mix, and that was as far as I got in my breed identification process. Much jumping and jostling while they yapped. I’m not ordinarily fond of dogs, but this was a happy crew.
“Yes?”
I handed her a business card. “I’m Kinsey Millhone. I drove down from Santa Teresa this morning in hopes of picking up information about the couple who used to live next door. Do you remember Edna and Joseph Shallenbarger?”
She held up a finger. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” She turned to the lot of them and put a hand on her hip. “What have I told you about that?”
She had apparently told them plenty, because the barking stopped instantly and the pack arranged themselves in a line and looked at her expectantly. She made eye contact with each in turn, and their obedience was so absolute as to be comical. She reached in her apron pocket for doggie treats and gave one to each dog. “I apologize for their bad behavior.”
“Don’t worry about it. Looks like you have them well-trained.”
“Until there’s a knock at the door,” she said. “I’m Betsy Mullholland, by the way.”